


religion's in your lips

by givebackmylifecas



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Catholic Guilt, First Kiss, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Pre-Canon, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28118817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givebackmylifecas/pseuds/givebackmylifecas
Summary: Martín winces. “Um… how does the Church feel about… wanting what you can’t have?”“Envy?” the priest questions. “Do you feel this a lot? Do you wish ill on others?”“All the time,” he eventually admits. “I just… I want it so badly. I want him.”
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54





	religion's in your lips

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not catholic so sorry for any inaccuracies (also my apologies to spanish/italian speakers for any mistakes - feel free to point them out)
> 
> TWs: religious guilt, religious homophobia, mention of suicidal thoughts
> 
> fic title from the taylor swift song 'false god'

The church is small, practically a chapel really, but it’s not the monastery, so it’ll do. Martín shuffles in through the open door and turns to shake his umbrella out on the steps. He looks up at the sky – it’s still raining unrelentingly and it feels like he hasn’t seen the sun in days. He doesn’t want to bring the umbrella in, it feels rude to have it dripping all over the flagstones. A quick look around shows a vase that will serve as an umbrella stand in the corner of the portcullis and he drops the umbrella into it, wincing when it clanks loudly.

He ventures further into the church. He imagines it’s quite pretty when the sun is shining, lightening the grey, stone arches and throwing colours onto the carved wooden pews through the stained-glass windows.

He passes the votive rack and briefly considers lighting a candle, then decides against it. Who would he even light one for? His father whom he lost too early and never believed, or his mother who believes so strongly that she never wants to see him again? Andrés? He’d laugh in Martín’s face if he knew he lit a candle for him. There’s no God that Andrés would consider worthy of worshipping.

He rounds the pews and heads to the confessional. He can hear the low murmur of voices from inside and he takes a seat in one of the pews to wait. It doesn’t take long, just a few moments in the almost eerie silence of the empty church, and then an old lady comes shuffling out of the confessional, leaving the velvet curtain open behind her.

She nods at him and he offers her a perfunctory “Buongiorno,”. Once she’s nearly at the entrance, he gets to his feet and takes a seat in the confessional.

He can hear the priest shuffling on the other side of the partition before he speaks. “Nel nome del Padre, del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo.”

Martín crosses himself, his hand tracing the familiar movements easily, even after all this time.

“Amen,” he says quietly, then in halting Italian: “Mio Dio, mi pento e mi dolgo.”

“You can speak in Spanish if that’s easier for you, my child,” the priest says in lightly accented Spanish and Martín almost laughs.

“Gracias, Padre,” he replies, sobering. “It’s been… seventeen years since my last confession.”

The priest’s voice isn’t as judgemental as Martín expected when he answers. “That’s a long time, is there a reason you stayed away?”

Martín hesitates, then decides there’s no point in lying – he’s going to have a heap of sins to do penance for anyway. “My mother threw me out and she… she said the Church would turn me away too for my sins.”

“The Church, like God, would prefer a sinner truly repent than stay away forever,” the priest says evenly.

“No matter the sin?” Martín asks.

He expects a cop out, some fancy speech that avoids answering honestly, instead the priest just says: “Yes, no matter the sin. Remember what we learn in Luke: there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.”

“I’m gay,” Martín says after a moment. “I know how the Church feels about it, but I can’t change. I won’t.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” the priest says and Martín looks at the partition in surprise. “In His purest form, God is love. It is not for us to determine how He expresses His love, nor to condemn those who love as He taught us.”

“Oh,” Martín says softly. “To be honest, I don’t know how much love has to do with it.”

“So the sins you wish to confess are of a carnal nature?”

Martín pulls a face. “Well, I suppose over the last twenty years there have been some. The usual, uh… fornication, sex outside of wedlock, desiring other men.”

“While those urges are natural, I would be remiss if I didn’t remind you of the Church’s stance on casual sexual encounters,” the priest says and Martín tries his best not to roll his eyes.

“Of course,” he mutters. “Then there’s also the… uh, stealing.”

“Stealing?” the priest repeats.

Martín nods, then remembers the other man can’t see him. “Yes, I’ve stolen – quite a lot actually. From banks, shops, other people.”

“You know this is not just against God’s law, but criminal law too.”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” Martín scoffs. “I’ve also lied – a lot. Cheated people out of money, um, punched some people too. No one who didn’t fucking deserve it though.”

The priest sighs. “I’ll add profanity to the list then.”

“Right, sorry,” Martín winces. “Um… how does the Church feel about… wanting what you can’t have?”

“Envy?” the priest questions. “Do you feel this a lot? Do you wish ill on others?”

Martín’s chest tightens and he struggles to breathe properly for a moment.

“All the time,” he eventually admits. “I just… I want it so badly. I want him.”

“My child, I told you how I feel about homosexual love,” the priest prompts gently. “Loving is not a sin.”

“Then why does it hurt so much?” Martín asks, ashamed to feel tears burning in his eyes. “It must be some form of punishment.”

“I don’t think that’s how divine punishment works. This man… does he know how you feel? Perhaps he returns your feelings.”

Martín scoffs, looking up at the low wooden ceiling above him. “No. He… he’s not like me. He’s getting married to a woman next month. He loves her.”

The priest doesn’t say anything and the silence seems so inviting that Martín just keeps talking.

“It’s not fair. I know I’m not a good person. I know I’ve done too much bad, hurt too many people to be considered good, I know I don’t deserve him but…” he pauses to try and swallow the lump in his throat. “But I’ve never wanted anything the way I want him. He’s everything, Padre, everything. When I’m with him… I think I’m my truest self, because we’ve done awful, criminal, sinful things together but I’d do them all again and again just to make him happy. Being so close and knowing I can’t have him – I don’t know how much longer I can stand it. I don’t know if there’s any point living if I can’t be with him, because it hurts too much.”

“That’s a very serious thing to say,” the priest says. “You know that taking your own life, the one given to you by God is a mortal sin.”

“Just one more to add to the list,” Martín sniffs, wiping at the tears on his face.

“Every life is precious and so is yours,” the priest’s voice is too gentle, but Martín can’t detect any pity. “Even when it doesn’t seem like it, you are loved. Because God loves you, always. No man is worth losing your life, losing God’s love, and your chance to enter His heavenly kingdom.”

“Is it wrong of me to say it’s not enough?” Martín asks. “To say that even God’s love doesn’t matter if he – if Andrés doesn’t love me.”

“I think it’s a very human thing to say, just as it is human to want. And there is nothing wrong with desire, as long as we don’t let it consume us, don’t let it lead us off the righteous path.”

“What if it already has?”

“You can always return.”

Martín scrubs at his face. “Thank you, Padre.”

“You’re welcome.” The priest is quiet for a moment. “Do you have anything else you wish to confess?”

Martín shakes his head. “No. That is all Padre.”

“Very well,” there’s a sigh from the priest. “For your penance, I’d like you to say three Hail Marys every morning for the next week. If you can, you should return what you have wrongfully taken and donate to the needy what you cannot return. You should also consider whether this man whom you profess to love is truly the right person for you to spend time with – if he is leading you away from God, then he is not someone with whom you should be associating.”

“Dios mio, me arrepiento de todo corazón de todos mis pecados y del bien que he dejado de hacer,” Martín begins the act of contrition he’d memorised as a boy and tries to imagine leaving Andrés - there isn't a world in which he sees it happening.

When he’s finished, the priest speaks the prayer of absolution, but Martín doesn’t know if he feels forgiven for any of his sins – doesn’t know whether he deserves it. He doesn’t even know whether he wants it anymore.

“Amen,” he mumbles when the priest is done.

“The Lord has freed you from your sins. Go in peace,” the priest says and Martín leaves without replying.

The curtain swings shut behind him and he hurries out of the church and into the rain. It’s only when he’s halfway to his car and soaked to the bone that he realises he left his umbrella behind. He looks over his shoulder, at the church half obscured by sheets of rain, and decides against returning for it. Instead, he trudges the last few metres to his car and begins the drive back to the monastery.

It’s late afternoon by the time he’s back, having detoured down every country road he came across, and stopping for lunch in a café that served poor espresso and worse paninis. Even though he dried off in the car, he feels waterlogged and unreasonably heavy. His father might have said that’s what comes from confession – you go to relieve your burden and instead return with a heart weighed down with guilt.

He can’t see Tatiana’s car in the courtyard when he parks and he hesitantly makes his way into the monastery and towards the chapel. There’s music playing when he approaches, but when he sticks his head in through the doorway, he finds only Andrés, sat at his easel, painting.

Martín coughs and Andrés turns to look at him.

“Martín!” he exclaims, a bright smile spreading across his face. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you all day!”

Martín blinks, a pang of longing flaring in his chest. “You have?”

“Of course!” Andrés gets to his feet.

“Oh,” Martín says. “Where’s Tatiana?”

Andrés’ face briefly darkens. “We had a fight and she’s gone to stay with her sister.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t lie, Martín, I know you aren’t her biggest fan,” Andrés says reprovingly, but his expression is fond. “Never mind her, she’ll come around – or not – now, where were you all day?”

Martín shrugs. “I just went for a drive.”

“A drive?” Andrés asks, returning to the stool in front of his easel. “Is that all?”

“Well, I went to confession too,” Martín admits.

Andrés’ brow creases. “Confession? Whatever for?”

“To confess,” he replies glibly and Andrés rolls his eyes.

“Since when do you go to confession? You haven’t been in years.”

Another shrug. “I don’t know, I just felt like talking things through.”

“You can talk to me about anything that’s bothering you.”

“Not about this,” Martín says.

Andrés’ eyes narrow. “Really? And what did your little priest say, hmm? That you’re going straight to hell for your proclivities?” he needles.

“No,” Martín says sharply and there’s a glint of pleasure in Andrés’ eyes at getting a reaction from him. “Actually, he said there’s nothing wrong with loving other people.”

“So you spoke to him about love?” Andrés says slowly. “That’s interesting. And yet you felt you couldn’t talk to me?”

“We spoke about other things too,” Martín says defensively.

“But you don’t deny that you spoke about love,” Andrés replies smugly. “Do you truly think that some repressed Catholic priest knows more about love than I do?”

He’s back off the stool again, stepping towards Martín and his face is half covered in the shadow cast by the chapel’s uneven walls. It makes him look sharper, like he’s chiselled from stone. He’s still handsome, still the most tempting man Martín has ever seen – Geef’s fallen angel has nothing on Andrés de Fonollosa.

“Even you don’t know everything, Andrés,” Martín says quietly.

Andrés smirks. “Don’t I?”

“No,” Martín insists. “Thankfully you don’t.”

His smile widens, it’s a sharp, dangerous thing and oh, how Martín loves that smile when it isn’t directed at him.

“So if I told you I know whom you spoke of, when you spoke to the priest about love, you’d deny it?”

“Yes,” Martín answers without hesitating.

Andrés nods, as if he’d expected that answer. “And if I told you the reason Tatiana and I fought, would you still deny it?”

Martín feels himself tense. They’re playing a dangerous game, toeing a line Martín had never intended to even go near, let alone cross.

“Well, I don’t know why you fought,” he says slowly. “So there’s no way I can predict the outcome without all the variables.”

“We fought because of you,” Andrés says casually, still smiling. “She said that she thinks you’re in love with me.”

The tension leaves Martín’s body so quickly he feels lightheaded. “She does?” he hears himself say numbly.

Andrés nods. “Of course I agree with her, so that’s not why we fought.”

“You – What?”

“No, we fought because she thinks I feel the same way about you and she told me to ask you to leave. Of course, I said no.”

Martín sees the words leave Andrés’ mouth, but he can’t quite believe them.

“You said no?” he repeats and Andrés nods. “Why?”

Andrés shrugs casually as if being asked his opinion on dinner options. “Why wouldn't I?”

“Because… because I love you,” Martín confesses and the words come easier than when he was telling the priest. “And because you’re engaged to Tatiana.”

“I’m not entirely sure that I am anymore,” Andrés says calmly. “I don’t like ultimatums. Especially not ones where I stand to lose what’s precious to me.”

Martín gapes at him. “Precious to you?”

“What we have is special, Martín, surely you feel that too,” Andrés says, moving closer. “I won’t lose it just because she wants me to. Because she thinks it’s unhealthy.”

Martín almost laughs. “My priest said something similar,” he breathes. “He thinks you’ll lead me off God’s righteous path.”

Andrés’ lips twitch. “I always thought God and His righteous path were overrated.”

“Blasphemy,” Martín says, stepping towards Andrés and then there’s a hand on the back of his neck.

“It’s only blasphemy if you choose to worship that God,” Andrés says, his face so close to Martín’s that they’re sharing air.

“Who else would I worship?” Martín asks.

Andrés kisses him in reply, fingers digging into the back of his neck, mouth claiming Martín’s demandingly. It’s nothing like Martín expected it would be, from having watched Andrés kiss countless women over the years. It’s severe in its possessiveness, harsh but gentle at the same time.

“What would your priest think about that?” Andrés whispers into the scant inches between them when they part.

“I think he’d tell me you’re leading me into temptation and that I owe a lot more penance,” Martín says and Andrés looks oddly proud.

“Well,” he says, lips turned up into a smile again. “If you’re going to insist on going to confession from now on, we might as well make sure you have enough sins to make the trip worth it.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Martín laughs as Andrés tugs him close again.

“It is when you’re in my church.”

The want is still burning in Martín’s chest, but Andrés kisses him, longer this time and Martín forgets to want, forgets everything except the man in his arms, the lips against his, the love in Andrés’ eyes. It’s not divine, it’s giving in to every temptation he's ever had, but he won’t give it up now that he has it.

**Author's Note:**

> [Geef's Fallen Angel](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_g%C3%A9nie_du_mal#/media/File:Lucifer_Liege_Luc_Viatour_new.jpg)
> 
> i know it was ooc, but i'd love some kudos or you can comment/kudos/yell at me on on tumblr ([@hefellfordean](https://hefellfordean.tumblr.com)) or twitter ([@angstypalermo](https://twitter.com/angstypalermo))


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